


santa baby

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Bottom Seo Youngho | Johnny, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Fluff and Smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I had the flu, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Mild Smut, Minor Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Moon Taeil is Whipped, Top Moon Taeil, hyuck is their son, idk man, is this fluff, johnil, they have sex kind of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 02:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17295596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: been an angel all yearsanta baby,so hurry down the chimney tonight





	santa baby

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_harmony, for when two beings, sounds, or objects coexist. noun. harmony, the very definition of their love. adjective._

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christmas day, and throughout the house floated about the sound of water running, fire crackling—and sneaking in from the outside, gentle but heavy nonetheless; the sound of an ongoing snowstorm. all but a whisper of song, calm despite an evergreen tree so tall in the living area, ornaments galore; whimsical, wintery, wonderland-ish decoration inside and out, of a house not too big, not too small.

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“dinner’s almost ready.” youngho tosses behind him, voice gentle as it echoes, gingerly stepping beneath the showerhead to wash away any suds. “do you think he’ll be here in time?” he questions, a little timid with his tone.

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“of course.” quietly comes the reply, lowly filling the bathroom with the sound of that precious, delicate laughter of a lover that no one can resist. taeil guides him away from the water, hand against the crook of his elbow, and in turn drenches himself beneath the jetting streams; washing himself of the soap laced throughout his hair. “he missed the cookies, but at least he’ll get dinner.” he finishes, offering youngho a little smile.

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dated for four, married for nine. all a very, very sweet reality. and it isn’t really a situation of moon youngho, or seo taeil either—just marriage, just love, just coming together as one.

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“if you say so,” he hums out, reaching forward to wet his hand and wipe away a strip of soap on taeil’s nape—he always forgets it, always. “now hurry up before the food burns.”

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taeil only laughs, cards a hand through his stringy wet hair, short and brown and always falling onto his forehead—he turns the little knob, slows the stream of water until it comes to a halt; then slides the glassy door open, bringing in a rush of cold air.

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youngho is first to step out, skittering on over to his towel and wrapping it around his waist ever so quickly. “I’ll be in here,” taeil pipes up after a moment, smiling, knowing; “be quick.”

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“oh come on!” youngho laughs, sliding his feet into these damned fluffy slippers he puts on all the time, it is cute, but by now he should’ve gotten a new pair—“you’re thirty-one, don’t be so childish.” he quips, smile so radiant that taeil can’t help but smile even wider in reply; “I am very mature, I’ll have you know,” he says, “but you’re shy these days!”

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youngho makes a face, reading somewhere between “you noticed!” and “oh no!”—but taeil just continues on, “now go, check on the food while you’re at it.”

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complying, shaking a head of wet champagne hair and giving a gentle smile as he moved; youngho tiptoed out of the bathroom, one hand lingering inside to grab a towel for his hair, and finally closes the door behind him.

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from his place by the face basin, already towel drying his hair and checking over his supposed good looks just in case; when taeil hears a yelp and the clatter of metal against tile from the kitchen, all he can do is laugh. it was youngho’s first attempt at cooking a holiday supper after all, the entire ordeal seemed funny to him.

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christmas really never failed to be wonderfully memorable in this family.

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some time passes as he dries himself, head to knee because he was too lazy to actually do his shins, they’d air-dry anyway; then he tosses his towel over a hook, and slides out into their bedroom, one handedly flicking off the lights.

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by the time he’s slipping on some boxers, barely over his right foot really, youngho is dashing back into the room, shivering. his teeth chatter audibly, and he looks like he’d seen a ghost, maybe of christmas past, yet he still attempts a smile.

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“what happened?” he questions, pulling on his underwear with a grunt and a huff. youngho only offers a vague gesture, shaking his hand like a telephone near his ear, before skidding into the bed and diving under the covers.

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“ah, babe—your hair is wet! get out the bed!” he wails, rushing over to pull at the giant lump under the sheets, pushing and pulling until youngho reluctantly rolls away, though still on the bed; whining.

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“it’s cold!” he complains, “you try answering the phone in the backroom, there’s like, no insulation back there!”

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“well you’re the one who wanted a house with an open backroom, don’t blame me.” taeil says, tone humorous even as he fights to yank a towel from beneath his husband, pulling so hard youngho nearly topples off the bed.

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“yes but, I wasn’t thinking of blizzards and snow at the time!”

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he smiles.

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towel acquired, he gently begins to dry the taller man’s hair—noting, with a snort, that the fluffy champagne coloured locks had already curled, and even a comb or brush would do it no justice. he loved it though, curly or not, everything about youngho always looked so beautiful.

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the more he flings the towel around, quickly yet thoroughly drying lengthy hair, the more youngho leans into his touch. finding the action a bit cute, taeil pauses; presses a small kiss to damp wisps, then pulls off the bed and walks back over to his chosen set of clothes.

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“what was that for?” follows after his small departure, and he gives just a laugh. the little things, he supposes.

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anyhow: they didn’t really have somewhere to go—dongyoung had cancelled his get-together because of the storm, kun cancelled his because he was tired, and taeyong, as said by him, because he wanted to be a 60’s housewife for the night; not ideal, but whatever floats his and ten’s boat—and yet here he was, dressing up for dinner.

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slacks, even a button-up: he doesn’t attempt to look too fancy, just pulls on some socks and sprays a little cologne. his shirt’s just black and pants grey—and after pushing hair back, almost no product used, he searches through a mess on the dresser, then slips one gold band onto his finger.

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he steps out after a moment, doesn’t much look back either, out of sheer respect for the sudden shyness of his husband, then heads on out to the hallway; following tall walls and decorations into the kitchen. he stops only to pet doku, then continues on.

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a house on a hill, a white picket fence, a dog, a son; and now, a white christmas, and a home cooked dinner, just the two of them.

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taeil wanders into the open space, glances over to simmering meat and steaming vegetables before tiptoeing closer and idly observing them. surprisingly, the (what he concludes is) steak smells great, looks great even; and the vegetables seem much more gourmet than any he himself had ever made.

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the most he does is turn the stove off for the vegetables, knowing it’d actually burn this time, before heading to the cabinets. he grabs plates from the ‘forbidden’ side, all fine china and limited edition, and pulls out three holiday themed plates.

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he sets out place mats, two red and one green, and down to the glasses match, though two for wine; one a regular cup.

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utensils and such set, taeil moves on to search through the honeycomb-esque shelf above the counter, edging just an inch or two into the living room; and begins a small but important mission of finding a most fitting drink for the night.

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thus, through white wines and heavy liquors, he settles on a sweet and yet tart red wine; deep in colour, flavour, and effect in general.

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he merely sets the bottle down in the center of the table, paired nicely with a vase full of roses, and a little cinnamon scented candle. the little red and green bow tied around it brings a sense of endless joy, because every little thing his husband did was just so wonderful to him.

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speaking of him, he’d of expected the gentle giant to be done by now, and out of slight impatience and worry, rushes to find a corkscrew before setting it on the table as well; and going back to check. it’d only been about four minutes when he’d prepared the table, but four minutes was more than enough for anyone to get ready…to taeil, of course.

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the wood floors beneath his feet send chills up his (still damp) legs, make hairs stand and skin crawl with cold; so he wonders a little if youngho had once more tried to warm up, or even have fallen asleep, something simple like that could be excused of course.

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just in case, once in front of the door, taeil slips into the room quietly, not even turning the knob completely as he tried to be stealthy; not even turning to look as he tried to stay silent. however, upon turning his gaze to look at the bed, his eyes meet the silhouette of husband; delicately perched on the edge of the mattress as he lathered his legs in lotion, clothed in just his towel still.

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“still getting ready? we’re only going to the dining room.” he says, smiling lazily, eyes never leaving the svelte man he dearly loved.

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“I can’t find a good outfit.” youngho replies, pout evident in his voice even as he softly smoothed the scent of cherry blossoms into his arms and hands; legs half done as he stood from the bed and waddled on over to his husband.

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taeil…just as attractive as he was fourteen years ago, really.

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ah, nostalgia brings him a smitten smile, thoughts of poetry and love songs, of young love and the promise to be together forever.

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“stop staring at me.” taeil urges, pulling out a drawer or two and readily picking from the very top, black pants; remembering just how nicely they fit.

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“if it’s those pants, I should just wear a bright colour, right? maybe red, or just white?” youngho questions, creeping closer and closer until he could capture taeil in a comfortable—though half bare—embrace. “and never,” he teases, “you’re too handsome for me to stop.”

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the small compliment make taeil snort, though his ears redden just a bit, but he replies with a short “red.” for the words said before nonetheless. youngho only laughs, a little chortle really, and detaches himself; accepting the pants offered to him before skittering off into the closet.

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taeil only changes the soaked sheets and tidies the room as he waits.

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///

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youngho ends up stepping out with a little pep, a bit giggly as he showcased the unimaginably oversized red sweater he’d chosen instead of a blouse or polo; the sleeves passing his hands, hem pooling around his neck in an innocent appeal, collarbones and a shoulder nearly fully exposed the more he moved to show it off.

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taeil only laughs, shaking his head. “those fit a lot tighter than I remember.” he points out, nodding towards his trousers; getting only a sheepish laugh and a tiny, “oh, but you love it.”, before youngho skips on over to him, gives a kiss to the cheek, then grabs his two rings and makes his way out the room.

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“I’ll share dinner! call hyuckkie for me, please baby?” he pleas, already so far from the door.

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taeil answers quietly—“of course, love.”—already working to find his phone amongst the many things on his nightstand. just like his side of the dresser, it was a mess.

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it takes him a moment to remember a few things—he isn’t ancient, but he isn’t brand new either—thus, he slides on a cold set of readers; really, his eyesight had gone to shit rather quickly, though he was anything but blind—and taps away until their son’s outdated little contact photo is shining on the screen. he gives a quick click, memories of the very picture making him laugh, and waits for the call to go through—though, quickly, it’s made clear it won’t, as it immediately goes to voicemail.

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reasonably, he assumes it's the storm—blizzards like these never really let anything come to fruition lest you want to possibly die or get snowed in, really.

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after another try or three, those times getting automated voices instead, and a concerned little frown, taeil leaves their room behind; following those tall walls once more.

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“didn't go through.” he announces once inside the kitchen, finally tucking his phone in the pocket of his trousers as he approached. he breathes a content little breath upon seeing youngho’s thin back, drowned by the festively red sweater; gently, though with the most adorably focused face, filling each plate. once reaching the third plate, however, his ringed hand hesitates; then he stops.

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“ah,” he vocalizes, with such a melancholy tone, “he’s grown up so fast. he doesn’t even want to celebrate christmas with us anymore..” he complains, sighing. taeil only hums, giving an apologetic smile when the taller man turns back to him. “or maybe the snowstorm is too dangerous.” he offers. youngho only pouts.

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“alright, alright.” he says after a moment, delicately walking over to the table. he rearranges the few things set out, pulls out the chair closest to taeil; then seats himself on the opposite side, still pouting.

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the shorter man can only accept, eyes following youngho’s every move even as he himself fits into his seat.

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an endlessly beautiful man, seo youngho is.

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“you’ve still got your glasses on, hyung.” he mumbles out after a beat, a little distractedly, biting his lip in this…babyish kind of way as he reaches over for the wine; struggling to open it up as he completely looks over the tool made just for that reason. the word catches taeil a little off guard, but he still acknowledges it.

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“hyung?” he repeats, just slightly mocking youngho’s tone, and laughing. when’s the last time he’d said that, really?

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hearing the goodhearted mockery, youngho pauses—confused for a moment, slowly but surely catching on—before laughter begins to bubble, and his shoulder do a gentle little shake that makes taeil’s heart swell.

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“ah, I haven’t called you that in years!” he exclaims, hand over his mouth as he smiled and laughed about—“remember when I found out you were older than me? I really couldn't believe it!” and even those words make taeil laugh, because—“I don’t see why! I was the one that drove us everywhere.”

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“sure, but you’re so small and cute; it’s hard to even think you’re not seventeen still!” he replies, brushing just a few stray strands of hair behind his ear as he spoke. taeil shakes his head, “you said I was thirty-one not even an hour ago!”

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“well! you’re a cute little grandpa then.”

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“grand—you’re only a year younger!”

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///

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it’s maybe seventeen minutes after finishing up, talking over empty plates and glasses never even filled, that taeil suggests they sit in front of the (can you believe it!?) fireplace and drink the rest of the night away—and, under the pretense of waiting for their son to come home, youngho agrees; giddy as he carried the glasses, watching taeil skip on over to the couch, corkscrew and wine bottle in hand. before they sit, however; taeil turns on the tree—and the entire room begins to glow a soft glow.

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they settle in nicely once seated, cuddled up in front of still burning flames and technically the tree as well, and taeil doesn’t much complain when youngho drapes himself over his lap; merely pours their glasses and lets the softness of utter, blissful comfort of lazing with his husband take him into a silent rest against the cushions of the couch.

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he nearly even dozes off, phone telling him that they’d probably be in bed by now if it weren’t for their parental love—but he does nod off a bit, fingers tangled in youngho’s hair, the younger man somehow managing to drink from his glass even at such an awkward angle.

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he looks up at taeil affectionately, still skilled enough to take a slow, small sip of wine, lips curling into a little smile even as he drank, cheeks flushing just a tad the more he sipped; “you’re so cute in these.” he says after a moment, reaching up to pull at the boxy pair of lens, small and wiry, until they slide off. a breathy laugh, taeil only catches the hand with his own, youngho’s hair a little mess of soft little ringlets and wavy locks as his hand leaves it; and manages to leave a little kiss on his ring finger.

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“oh, stop being such a sap.” youngho comments after a beat, laughing a bit; breath scented sweet like the wine. “but I could never.” taeil replies, letting lithe fingers go only to intertwine them.

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albeit a tad uncomfortable, wrists bent strangely, they sit like that for a while, his eyes closing every now and then; hands occupied by soft, gentle fingers and wine respectively. then this bright idea catches his attention, makes him brighten with even more joy, and he mumbles few words before he takes youngho’s glass, sips the rest away; and fumbles out from the couch.

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tipsy, giggly youngho complains—says “you better pour me some more!” while stretching across the couch; cat-like as he mewled each crack and pop—yet he gets no reply.

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taeil moseys on over to the mantle, feels the heat of the fire radiate outwards to his shins and face as he sets each glass on the floor; then he stretches, tiptoes to see over the wood and look over every object set atop it. when he finds what he’s looking for—with an “aha!” and a slurred little word of self-praise—he all but dances back over to his wonderful, now drinking straight from the bottle, husband; smiling ear to ear.

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“a gift.” he explains shortly, offering the messily wrapped box once he was in arms reach; youngho immediately sits up, sets the wine down, grinning like an idiot; clapping, even kicking his legs, all at once.

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“god, you’re like a child!” taeil laughs out, something like a prince the way he’s dressed, the way he stands—

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“I’m excited! last time you got me a gift, it was a birdhouse.” youngho wails, pointing in the direction of said gift; idle atop a tall cabinet. really, that thing hadn’t moved from its place in months.

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“hey, at least I tried my best making it!” he replies, even pouting as he slid back into the couch, letting grabby hands steal the poorly done gift from him while he slotted himself into the corner he’d been sitting in before.

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the younger man only laughs—a squeaky, near-drunken laugh—“by the way those wind chimes weren’t crooked…I guess we can agree that you did try your best.” he says, “but! I still wasn’t very delighted to receive it.”

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brown hair, eyes now like crescents as he smiles, taeil laughs; “alright, I get the point! I’ll get you a necklace or something next time.”

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“I’d appreciate that.” youngho replies, teasing as he sticks out his tongue and shakes his head cutely—really, it’s endearing enough for taeil to sharply pinch his cheek. at a pained, though drunken, “ouchie”, taeil pulls his hand away; and replaces a pinch with a kiss.

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banter having died off, miniscule abuse as well, youngho begins to tear at the horrifically wrapped gift; and the more he pulls away, the more his wide grin turns into a content little smile.

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it’s a scrapbook. of all materialistic things to gift…it’s a scrapbook.

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looking over the cover, that content smile becomes more and more proud, happy even; fingers trace over a decorated little picture from the wedding, then of a smiley little toddler and the papers to prove, an awkward jumbled mess of limbs on a hill off campus…

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“we were so ugly.” youngho breathes out, sounding a little emotional, tracing over that sunny, grassy scenery; taeil strapped up with a heavy guitar, youngho still used to being called john only, and—“yes, we were.” taeil hastily replies, easing the book back into his own grip, “but let’s see more of our ugliness before you cry?”

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at a sniffle he gingerly pulls the book open, lets the pages flap quite audibly, then starts them on the very first page—the inside of the cover, really.

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just as soon as it’s settled on that page, however, youngho is screaming bloody hell.

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“god! why did I ever think I’d look good with hair that long!?”

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///

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when taeil remembers his phone is in his pocket, it’s not to check the time—really, he’s got an entire grandfather clock that made his ears go numb last it rang—but because of one, singular buzz.

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youngho is in the midst of sipping from the bottle once more as he swooned, fawning over teenage taeil; basically bald, grinning like an idiot, dressed up in a suit because they’d planned to sneak in the senior’s prom under the guise that they knew the dj. taeil stood short and handsome, holding a skinny, overly shy “johnny suh” by his hand, both of them smiling largely—but as soon as he hears the notification, he pauses.

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upon seeing the crazily concerned look on his husband’s face, taeil gives a quick smile, brows high despite his mission to calm the newly awakened beast. “don’t worry, I’m checking right now.” he pacifies, hands up in immediate defeat; speaking slowly as if to a dangerous animal—and in this case, a mother bear.

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true to his words though, he pulls the thin device from his pocket and one handedly swipes and taps until he’s got the notification bar opened. his gaze flickers from a determined youngho, to a baldy-pimply-overdressed version of himself on a page, to the phone screen; and there he reads

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_우리해찬 ^^_

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_1 message_

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“is it hyuckkie?” youngho questions, expression shifting with each syllable—brows knitting, eyes becoming a tad wider, lip chewed before he pouts.

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speaking of, taeil supposes it’s just a habit that would never die.

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“yes,” he starts, low in tone as he taps the notification, the messaging app opening up brightly; illuminating his face alongside the christmas-y lights and the now dying fire.

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“then what did he say?” his husband urges, dropping his gift and crawling over to him in anticipation. taeil doesn’t respond, just watches the screen until the message loads; then reads it aloud just as soon as it does.

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_[ hey dads lots of snow outside TT stay safe ~~ ]_

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“ask him where he is before the signal leaves again!” youngho screeches not even a second after he’d finished; making taeil a jumpy, startled mess that struggles to find the right keys to press—sending off a hasty little _[ Areyou coming home.? where are you son TT ]_ that delivers just as soon as he’d clicked send.

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taeil lets out a breath of relief, happy knowing at least donghyuck could text them—but when the phone vibrates in his hand, two quick buzzes really, he barely has time to inhale before youngho is grabbing the phone right out of his hands.

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_[ trying but theres 2 much snow!! ]_

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_[ still @ minhyungs cause of it ]_

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“I knew letting him have a girlfriend was gonna be the death of all of us!” youngho wails, shaking the phone as he dramatically collapsed back into the couch. he pushes his face into his husband’s lap and wails, crying out a dramatic “my poor little sunny baby man!” before dropping the phone to grab at taeil’s shirt.

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taeil gapes, gasping—“god, you’re always so honest when you’re drunk—” though he jolts when youngho falls onto him—“you should’ve told me and minhyung would’ve been out the picture long ago!”

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“how could I!?” youngho gurgles out, “he likes her so much, why would I break his cute little heart like that..” he finishes, voice distorted by little sobs.

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a cutesy, crying, honest drunk—since forever. it never gets old, really.

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“that is true, but I would’ve limited his outings with her at least..” he mumbles, but all he gets in reply is a dramatic wail.

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never gets old, until he has to carry youngho’s deadweight after passing out.

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“alright love,” taeil starts, glancing at his phone to check the time—forty-nine minutes past 2am, way later than he’d imagined—“I think it’s time we head to bed.”

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the words make youngho (quite quickly) end his little episode, and he raises his head and whines and—“but we’re not done with the scrapbook!” he cries, “and you probably tried so hard making it—we can’t just sleep now, our little sunshine might get stuck outside trying to get in and freeze!”

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“he won’t, okay?” taeil says, tone like a promise despite his unsuccessful attempt at covering a laugh—“and we can finish the scrapbook another day, now let’s get ready for bed.”

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without answer, he gently maneuvers both him and youngho up onto their feet without a hitch—ignores whiny little pleads to drink a little more, look at just a few more pictures, wait just a bit longer; and guides them away from the couch.

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once close enough, he switches off the christmas lights, checks the fire—and fortunately, it’s already dead—then moves out to the hallway, all but dragging youngho along with him.

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“oh come onnnn.” he cries, “we didn’t even drink any eggnog, o-or help hyuckkie unwrap gifts, and he wasn’t here so we could sing! we can stay up a little longer, right? we didn’t even clean up—pleaseeee, please, please?” youngho begs, trying to wriggle his way out of taeil’s newly-made hold on his middle.

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“youngho, babe, my beautiful prince, second father of our child;” taeil stresses, “I need you to sleep—we need to sleep.” he says, still pulling his husband with him, “it’s really late, donghyuck is safe with mrs. lee, and you’re drunk. we’ll clean later, okay?”

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“okay?” taeil tries again, this time stopping his shuffling feet just to give the younger man a chance to speak—

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but he gets no reply, just a defeated little huff of air against his neck and compliance as youngho lets him lead the way to their room.

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it brings a smile to his face.

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///

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“when did you buy that?” youngho questions the very moment his husband meanders over to him, donning a (for once) matching pajama set; probably silk and a gentle, burgundy colour.

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“you bought it for me, remember?” taeil replies, helping the adorably drunken man out of his clothes; “you said I always go to sleep in boxers and a shirt and you find it very “unsexy”, so you got me these and a couple more, for christmas right?”

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youngho seems shocked, even as his sweater pulls over his head and ruffles his hair, he keeps the same expression. “that isn’t your gift!” he exclaims, “your gift is one of those things, you know? the necklace with the picture in it—except it's a watch for, for your pocket?”

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“a pocket watch?”

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“I don’t know, but it has a picture of all of us in it.” the younger man concludes, nodding each word as he happily stared up at his husband, lifting a hand to feel the fabric of the pajama—silk, just like he thought.

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“that was sweet of you,” taeil mumbles, too busy trying to wriggle the man out of these overly fitted pants to bother expressing already known gratitude. “let’s get you cleaned up then lay down, okay?”

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“m’kay.” is answered, still slurred, makes taeil chortle a bit as he thinks of his own little buzz and the way his lovely husband had drunk from the bottle despite his low tolerance—of how christmas this year was a little unorthodox, but wonderful nevertheless.

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a simplistically joyful silence blankets the room after this, just slight movement until youngho shimmies out of his pants and leans up to kiss taeil’s cheek—jumps away from the bed and slinks over to the dresser.

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taeil doesn’t watch, just listens instead; to the sound of wood as it slides against itself, rustling and searching until something soft hits the drawer; grating sounds as the drawer closes, a few tips and taps, soft padding of feet—a small huff, still drunken laughter, and he only turns his gaze when footsteps start to come close once more.

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a little tug to his sleeve, he hums in acknowledgment then back into the bathroom they go, floor dry by now—and youngho grumbles even as they situate in front of respective sinks; down to mirror frames different.

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distinctive mirrors, sinks, and levels of organization—one a mess of products, one neat and maybe colour coded; this time taeil wasn’t the messy one—and yet two toothbrushes sit together in a decorated cup, designed by the one and only donghyuck.

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“you know, for a lightweight, you really do drink a lot.” taeil comments, glancing over the ruddy face of more-than-tipsy youngho as he lazily went through a lifelong routine on autopilot, barely opening his eyes until he has to flip open the cap of the toothpaste—he has on christmas themed pajamas, it seems.

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god, he’s just lovely.

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“I’ll have you know being a lightweight doesn’t mean I can’t handle alcohol.” youngho replies simply, though with a dash of sass, as he began to brush his teeth.

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“sure.” his husband replies, leaving it at that as he followed suit; all of their routines in-sync, though not always perfectly, until of course, they’re not.

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once done, flashing an approving smile to his reflection and all, taeil merely washes his face of any remaining paste; and waits by the door as youngho finishes off.

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a light wash, a little moisturizer, he pats he cheeks—probably a little sober by now—then saunters on over, and even with taeil in front of the door first; ends up in the bed before him.

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it only earns a bark of laughter, lights turned off and door closed. and soon enough; taeil is in bed too.

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sleep is sought after quickly, taeil’s head against youngho’s chest, breaths even and light—a snowstorm decorating a christmas pure white.

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///

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an hour and a half, only more and more snow comes pouring down, a quiet night compared to every other; and yet taeil has not fallen asleep.

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there really is no bedtime for two fully functioning adults, yet they tend to head to bed at nine—and yet, past two, near three; they finally retire to their room.

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and yet taeil is not asleep.

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but, this knowledge very common, youngho hasn't made one sound—no light snores, no little sleepy sounds; taeil can tell he isn’t asleep either.

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“I think we just fucked up our sleeping schedule.” he announces, though quietly, as he rolls over to youngho; who’d pushed him off already.

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his husband only shifts around, uncomfortable, and whispers a humorous “language, please.” before he too turns over, pouting a bit.

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“hyuckkie isn’t back,” he whispers after a moment, admiring taeil’s face with unabashed affection, “now I can’t sleep.”

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“well neither can I.” his husband (his soulmate, the love of his life) replies, tone sweet, actions soft as he caresses still rosy cheeks and brushes champagne tinted hair from honey coloured eyes—

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give a gentle little kiss, try to go to sleep again, don’t do anything when donghyuck could come home at any minute, be a sweetheart, let’s just cuddle, let’s sleep through the making of a winter wonderland, let’s not wake up until it’s afternoon; but—but then those thoughts change.

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sex—let’s have sex, when’s the last time we had sex? I miss the way you feel—I miss this and that, you’re art when we move—let’s do it, let’s make love.

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the notion of a gentle kiss melts into one of lust—swoop in for a dreamy little touch of lips, cinnamon of holiday spirit sneaks in alongside a small draft, noses nearly bump as excitement transfers and grows in each soul situated in this lonely room—

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the moon always admires earth from afar (from one moon taeil, to seo youngho) but now has the chance to let love show—let love of many years show for an uncountable amount of times, but for just tonight, let it be thought of as the first.

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youngho is the one to break the kiss—question him for a moment, ask if he’s drunk—but nothing much can be said in reply, no words can really be thought of; because moon taeil is suddenly drowned in the thought of how much he is in love.

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thirteen years seems so small basked in the light of utter lovesickness, thinking back to days of a simplistic definition put to their utter unity—taeil takes a hand laid astray to cradle youngho’s head, deepens a kiss unexpected—

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oh! what it means to him when their legs tangle and chests become close! what it means to fit a knee between slender yet full thighs, softly coax arousal each move, and earn a desperate little breath—what it means to have fingers twist in his hair when he moves each kiss from lips to jaw to neck; what it means to be shyly asked for more when he asks if this is okay, what he’s doing.

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treat him delicately, because he’s always been a deity of pure and utter romance, of love, to taeil—because even thirteen years couldn’t make seo youngho any less beautiful.

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///

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_utmost care, he puts a flattened little pillow under hips that shift and buck—taeil tries to calm youngho and his panicky breaths, his mumbles of “it’s been awhile, I’m sorry, it’s embarrassing” always losing to whimpered little moans. nevertheless he rubs a pattern or two onto soft, sensitive skin, kisses away the damp fringe near his widow’s peak and whispers words to pacify—_

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_he was right though, it has been awhile—taeil really can’t remember the last time they even kissed without donghyuck frolicking into the room, but now they’re free to do whatever as long as the snowstorm kept storming._

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_youngho hisses a bit, feels his thighs tremble as bony knuckles nudge at bundles of nerves, sends shivers up his spine—“hurts?” his husband questions, “does it hurt?” once more, even as he twists and turns his fingers; spreading as far as contracting muscles will allow._

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_his only reply is a low, nearly inaudible moan—tone a little husky as he fights to catch his breath, each inhale shaky and pitchy; chest heaving and stuttering—“no, it’s fine, keep going, it’s fine.” he rambles, baring his throat as he arched into taeil’s hold, pliant._

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_the older man fits into the little remaining space between them, slots narrow hips between spread legs and leans close until their chests meet; fingers still busy, pushing and pressing and catching on a slick, tight ring of muscle—everything flows, nothing is rushed, taeil presses a chaste kiss to a taut jaw, then on the soft, pulsing expanse of youngho’s neck; peppers them across sensitive skin, sucks a bruise onto the skin just because, and eases his fingers in and out of youngho’s body—more efforts to please each time he did so—_

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_and it earns him a strangled sound and hands gripping his shoulders, legs locking around his waist and fingers digging into his skin—youngho sobs (“you touched it, you t-touched it!”) and writhes beneath him, jolting and trembling and still just as beautiful and—taeil groans, feels himself throb and twitch and—it’s been too long, would another hurt?_

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_maybe so, but better safe than sorry, right? this wasn’t his first time, but his first time in a while—it only makes sense they’d be thorough._

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_fingers buried deep within pull out, one by one until none—then they’re all back, just with one more, and it feels horribly unfamiliar—to hell with being hard workers, there sex life had gone to shit—youngho trembles, shifts and struggles to slant his hips to alleviate the little sting of pain; mumbles a few curses yet tries his best to relax, breathing heavily._

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_taeil apologizes quietly, cautious with his movements. he offers a distraction in the form of kissing, though whimpers and groans are still let out against his lips, and tries his best to fit bundled fingers into tight, heated space; struggling a tad to stretch him._

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_“we’re like, like inexperienced old people now.” youngho manages to laugh out, still pained, still a mess of sounds and slightly sweaty skin, but then—“y’know what?” he hiccups out, “l-let me do it.”_

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_taeil only agrees, knows it’d be better—save them the awkward foreplay, really, because it’s been some time and it wasn’t just gonna happen just like that._

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_he sits back and watches, because what more can he do; just adjusts himself because—really, they’re not teens, it isn’t an everyday thing anymore (spare him his old people thoughts) thus he sits idle at the foot of the bed, tries not to look like a horny dog as he crosses his legs and fixes his clothes._

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_“you’re so weird.” youngho mumbles, sounding far more comfortable, a little too casual for the way he’s touching himself—but then again, this is something they’ve done too many times to count. (and then again, this is the first time in a while)_

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_taeil hums, mumbles a “not weird, just a little shy” that earns a soft laugh—and even though he watches youngho curl into himself each shift of his own hand, back curved and figure delicate as he (ever so skillfully) fingers himself; it so happens that he still feels that content little feeling of being purely (maybe innocently) in love._

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_it should only takes so long, really—and after a moan or two, sweet in sound, endearing; tempting—he’s fed up with waiting and can’t help but crawl right back over, catching lips in a kiss once more, even pulling youngho’s hand away just so he can fit between long, slender legs again._

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_“a little shy.” youngho teases softly, pushing taeil away ever so lightly, words made to receive a laugh, but breathy and startled in tone—and it’s only to give the older man enough space to shed his clothes, give enough space to figure out a good position; he thinks maybe all-fours, face down, something taeil likes—_

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_but the moment becomes feverish, there’s no time to wait—there never was, really, but it just now starts to set in—and the most youngho can do is fall back onto the pillow cushioning his head from the wooden headboard, and spread his legs further._

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_the older man huffs and puffs and pours a bit more lube into his hand, some lazily spread on the heated flesh of his shaft—the rest deliberately used to coax a gentle fingertip into velvety heat, just to make sure._

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_“ready?” he questions, gaze never leaving hooded eyes the hue of honey, messy hair; complexion a pale ivory as his eyes traced soft, supple expanse of skin, arms to chest, tense stomach to hips and thighs and—and an overall drunken, aroused flush to every part of him—consent is but a horribly quiet plead when he asks, a little keen of a word as it wavers in tone; nonetheless, taeil accepts it._

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_spread legs gingerly take place at his waist again, youngho makes this nervous little sound and hides his face in his arms—his breaths are uneven, excited, and only pause for a moment; held breath out of anticipation, movements miniscule out of excitement._

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_taeil guides his length with a shaky hand, bracing an arm beside his husband’s head, and gently nudges the crown of his cock against youngho’s warm, wet opening—sparing no time as, inch by inch, he completely sheathed himself within velvety heat._

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_youngho lets out a soft, soft mewl; back bows and brows knit as shivers wrack his body in jittery little convulsions. he instinctively lifts his arms from his face, loops them around taeil’s neck just to pull him closer again—he initiates a gentle kiss, very soft, very sweet; tries to soothe his discomfort, but that tiny bud of pressure is relentless and—even though taeil tries his very best at staying still, to let youngho adjust, and kiss him at the same time—down to the shift of his arms elicits a startled whine._

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_“sorry.” he mumbles, peering down at youngho sheepishly—and despite his apology of just a moment ago, he moves without care; brushing stringy fringe from youngho’s face and leaning down to kiss his neck._

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_youngho croaks out a horribly hoarse moan, calmed breaths hitching once more, soft hands now gripping his husband’s shoulders—“taeil!” he cries, both weak and warning in tone, even a little frightened. he’s soothed in the form of another kiss, of a gentle hand smoothing over his thigh._

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_the very action brings the faint memory of their first time—and a little bubble of laughter forms in his chest as he remembers; youngho’s overgrown hair in a horribly messy ponytail, absolutely red in the face since the very moment taeil (haircut awkward, still pimply—both of them a little underaged) had stripped him of his shorts. youngho gives him a nasty look—in the most kittenish way possible, going as far as pushing his face away to make sure he saw it—and he can only smile._

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.

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.

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.

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_it’s after a moment of heavy breaths, all but melting into kisses upon kisses and gentle touches galore; that youngho finally feels that pressure subside. he pulls away from the kiss with a snivel, nodding feverishly as words escape him—because now, instead of an uncomfortable sting and horrible stretch; all he can feel is how much space taeil really takes up, filling him up almost till he felt like bursting—“d-do it, move now.” he begs._

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_“now?” taeil questions quickly, concerned and thrilled all at once, “now, are you sure—does it hurt?” but youngho only whines, and his innocent gaze seems a lot more sexual by now; and taeil knows that it’d be fine._

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_it’s just a slight movement, really—he shifts his hips and pulls back just a bit, feels soft and scorching heat clench around his girth and thinks it’s like heaven as youngho jolts in his hold._

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_he mumbles some type of phrase of warning, but the only thing he gets as a reply is a “hurry up” and the greedy tightening of legs hooked behind his back—it makes him chuckle, but even so he pushes forward, gentle, then pulls back once more; this time thrusting a bit quicker, a bit harsher—_

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_youngho gasps, a tad lewdly really—his husband pulls away, gives space for breath to no longer mingle and lips to no longer brush and touch; admires the love of his life’s gorgeous face every move he makes, how he chews at his lip in an attempt to stay quiet yet pushes back against each thrust as if to ask for more—even if he’s gentle with it, tries to savour the moment with a slow push and pull; romantic with the way he’d slide his arousal in deep only to pull out until only the tip remained._

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_“taeil.” he whimpers, voice squeaky with the way he tries to speak through a moan, and he attempts to reply but merely hums, busy with lusty thought as he pushes deeper once more—and any words youngho had planned to say fail to come forth as he keens, hands falling from his husband’s neck to the bed as he feared he’d leave marks if taeil leaned close again. intense couldn’t even come close to explaining what he felt the very moment they laid together._

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_just as soon as he touches the soft fabric of the sheets do they become crumpled in his hands, his arch a simple bow until his back curves so hard he trembles; taeil fucking into him too slow, too gentle, and the feeling becomes worse and worse—he nearly feels that bud of arousal swell and burst in both love and lust as he stares up at his soulmate, passionate even when they’re intimate—“s-stop.” he hiccups out, nearly even crying the word as he pushes at taeil’s chest; “stop.”_

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_immediately, the older man does as told—brows furrowed in utter worry as his eyes flickered over youngho’s face; searching for any sign of discomfort only to see an overwhelmed (nearly erotic even) expression._

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_“I’m fine,” he starts (though never finishing), squirming as he unhooked his legs and wriggled away—prompting taeil to (courteously, maybe) pull out and give even more space. youngho’s breath catches, but he does nothing more than collapse out of his arch and fix himself onto his front, shifting until his knees dug into the mattress and gripping a pillow to hide his face; letting his back fall into an arch once more. the only thing on his mind once in such an embarrassing position is, taeil won’t be as soft anymore, he can never stay that way for long whenever he laid like this, and—and it’ll be fast and hard, and he’ll love it even more._

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_taeil huffs, pushes that now-unnecessary pillow away as he moves closer—“shy?” he questions, though shortly and gruffly as he situates himself at youngho’s ass again, a hand held on his hips while the other stayed busy; pressing against his entrance carefully before sliding in, no effort needed._

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_he moans a bit loudly this time—then once more when taeil begins an immediate pace; tries to smother his constant whimpers and whines in the pillow, but just ends up biting at it and choking out each keen—“very.” he slurs out, pressing his face into soft cotton._

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_taeil shifts, runs his hands down the curve of youngho’s spine, then the soft dip of his waist, the soft chub on his hips; still a piston with each thrust, plunging, fast and deep—“liar.” he says, a bit gravelly, a bit smug._

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_his only reply is a muffled, needy whine of “I love you.”_

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///

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instead of the sweet sound of a calmed snowstorm, the playful pants of doku, or even each other’s soft snores—taeil and youngho wake up to “ew, oh my god.” and something heavy being dropped onto their legs.

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youngho is first to open his eyes, gaze obstructed by his own messy hair and a bit blurry as his eyes adjust to the light—and he nearly springs up in joy upon seeing donghyuck’s adorable little face, grimacing at them.

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he shakes taeil awake by his shoulder and pulls his face from his chest, sitting up to give a sleepy smile to the boy splayed across their legs; pulling the comforter close to cover himself. he glances over to the corner of the room after a moment—spots a fluffy, beady-eyed mess called doku staring at him with the words “I know what you did” translating into the air, and that sleepy smile becomes wry in a bit of shame.

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he shoos the dog out with a hand and turns to donghyuck instead.

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“hey hyuckkie.” he singsongs, moving to pinch at the boy’s cheek and grinning “merry belated christmas, your gifts are still under the tree!”

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“even though you were supposed to be here to unwrap them.” taeil adds grumpily—as if he wasn’t the one blaming the blizzard the night before— eyes barely open by the time hyuck pushes his dad’s hand away with another “ew!” he sits up lazily, with a grunt and a stretch, then tosses the little blanket covering him over the boy’s face before trudging into the bathroom.

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“it’s not my fault!” donghyuck wails, scrambling to get the blanket off of him—“AND IF I WAS HERE YOU WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN ABLE TO DO THE DIRTY!” he screeches, dashing out of the room.

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“watch what you say!” taeil’s calls back, the sound of the shower already filling the room.

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youngho merely sighs, sliding off the bed with an uncomfortable grunt and a short laugh before he waddled into the bathroom as well; closing the door behind him.

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“but it’s TRUE!” donghyuck screams back, chasing after doku happily—but when he gets no reply, no words said back, he scampers back into his parent’s room; nosy as he tiptoes over to the now closed door.

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upon hearing a giggle and a grunt, however, he finds himself running right back out—and a gift from christmas past is used to blast cheerful music until those sounds stop.

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_so hurry down the chimney tonight~_

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merry christmas!

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**Author's Note:**

> this is basically not ever read over by fully rested eyes so! mistakes are most likely thriving and im so tired i cant find them + im a lil coward and lets face it who wants to read their own fucky sucky wucky smut??? i was too tired haha thanks for reading im gonna throw myself off a cliff
> 
> (hmu on twt or smth idk my twt is @/taeismyname + banana or lilly or cal if u read this and hate it i do not blame you)


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